Page 23 of Beehive

A lone figure sat at the table closest to us.

“It took you long enough,” the man said.

I gaped, unable to speak.

Will brushed past me, shouldering the woman out of the way, before plucking the man from his chair and lifting him off the ground.

“Arty! Oh my God, what are you doing in Paris?” His voice smiled almost as wildly as his face.

Arty, Will’s roommate from Harvard and the smartest person I’d ever met, short of his girlfriend Elizabeth, giggled like a schoolgirl—or like Will on a staircase.

“Can you put me down? I want to be able to breathe when this is over.”

Instead, Will spun him toward me so I could join in a group hug, squeezing Arty as hard as the pair of us could muster.

“Manakin! Help! I think the Nazis are back, and they have me!”

Manakin’s laugh bordered on a hyena’s shrill.

The woman muttered, “I take it they are acquainted?”

“Emu and Stork were roommates at university,” Manakin explained.

The woman nodded and continued observing.

I released the boys so Will could drop Arty back into his chair, where he promptly adjusted his glasses and fiddled with his now-out-of-place hair. Arty was no older than Will, but fine lines had formed around the edges of his eyes, and there was a stern set to his jaw I didn’t remember seeing before. He’d always been thoughtful, lost in his own head, but now he appeared serious to the point of grave.

Where had our nerdy little friend gone? What had he seen during the dark days of war to change him so?

“We have a lot to discuss. If you two are done manhandling me, take a seat,” Arty said in a clipped tone carrying an unfamiliar air of authority.

Will looked up at me with his brow knitted, then sat.

I took the chair on Arty’s other side, while Manakin and our hostess took two of the chairs opposite where Arty sat.

Manakin spoke first, extending an upward palm toward the mystery woman. “Before we begin, allow me to introduce Loon.”

“Loon?” Will nearly spat a laugh.

The sharp look Loon gave him schooled his expression faster than a slap.

“It is a perfectly fine code name, thank you very much,” she said, stretching her neck in a frighteningly accurate approximation of her namesake.

“Loons are serious. Look at her scowl,” Arty said. “Besides, neither of you truly match your code names. They were randomly generated.”

“That’s a good thing,” I quipped. “Otherwise, everyone you met would end up pregnant, Mr. Stork.”

Will lost his composure as bright red flooded Arty’s face. It was reassuring to see how simple, childlike embarrassment stilllived within our friend’s fragile frame, no matter how serious he might’ve become over the years.

“All right, you three. Let’s get to the briefing.” Manakin cleared his throat, his mouth pursing into a thin line. “The Soviets are no longer our allies. In fact, Roosevelt now considers them adversaries bordering on enemies.”

“Enemies?” I sat back, all humor drained from my face. “Hitler kicked the shit out of the Ruskies, killing millions in his failed invasion. Stalin might not be an ideal partner, but he sent troops chasing the Nazis back across the snow before helping liberate the rest of Europe.”

“Berlin,” Loon interjected.

“And Poland, and a few other countries in the East,” I added.

Manakin shook his head. “Eastern Europe is no more liberated than they were under the Nazis. They simply traded a swastika for a hammer and sickle.”